billy being human

billy thinks about the-very-moment he stopped being human.

it was a conscious choice. oh yes, billy is aware of this, blindingly. it would be rather easy for billy to be human again, if he were only to accept the blatant dark-eyed truth peering him in the face every morning, bedding down over his hair and hands every night. but billy is stubborn. being inhuman is simpler. he supposes sculptors everywhere would envy him. billy can turn to stone. billy can be his own creation.

but the moment. yes.

august.

it was in august. the boys were treading up the field, and the air hung sweet and heavy with sweat and lime, with white afternoon and grass. and there was billy, watching them from the stands. The Old Man was clapping his hands, RUN-RUN-RUN-GO! FAST-FAST-FAST, the Old Man’s voice rasping out over the sweet scents, the rippling air. and there was billy.

billy, not head coach.

billy alone on the stands.

billy, wading through the summer. he was human then, and completely aimless. the air was sweet about him, the boys ran on, treading up the field, tearing the lime and grass, the white paint, and the sky was very hot, very white.

then there was the Old Man beside him, his voice rasping, his hands scrub-brush awful on billy’s shoulder.

“new defensive line coach coming today, have to meet him go on billy-boy, tell him I’m busy go on.”

and billy had swum through the sweet air, which was lessening to evening. he did not know it, but he would stop being human very soon. the human motion, swimming through the air, not feeling the evening encase his skin, would be gone, with not even enough substance to hold a memory.

‘new defensive line coach.’

and he was by a car in the lot. billy saw him by a car in the lot. billy stopped being human. his skin felt new, sudden, filled with evening, with the grass and the sweat and the lime and the heat. his skin had never felt so full, so completely alien. billy hardened his eyes. but that only made them wider. brown. and the ‘new defensive line coach’ was walking over, his eyes wide and brown too.

he said something, he said something else, then billy heard “-brian McNamara, I am-“and something else and something else.

the man. brian McNamara. staring at billy and knowing everything, the lack of humanity, almost the terrible hurt which would come expectedly, and billy screaming in his mind “DEAR GOD HE LOVES ME NOW AND I LOVE HIM…my god no i don’t no i don’t no i don’t…”

and the name.

brian McNamara.

brian M-c-N-a-m-a-r-a.

brian MCNAMARA.

“Billy-“billy whispered. they shook hands. McNamara’s hand had been warm and filled too, the evening part of his skin. the touch was enough. billy would never be human again. human beings have the capacity to run. billy lost that. billy could be cruel. billy could be awful and never say the name again, and never want to, but billy could not run. McNamara was August, would be January, would be March, would be May- McNamara.

and later, after the boys had quit practice for the day, after the Old Man had left for his Old Wife at home, and the air was still hot but softened more by night. billy had completely become something so different and strange, and McNamara’s mouth had been fleeting, warn against billy’s own.

that was august. it is may now. billy has had much practice not being human. McNamara is sitting next to him, they are in a park they had been once, in winter, and McNamara had run that time.

“remember when you came?”

billy asks McNamara.

“yes.”

McNamara replies. billy has stopped smoking.

“i don’t think things can ever be okay.”

billy sighs.

“this is okay. you don’t smoke now.”

McNamara tells billy. he holds billy’s hand. he stares in billy’s eyes. billy is fighting so hard not to pull away and run away and find his human being again so he can stop this, this awful-wonderful gasp which is finding McNamara every day, and turning to stone.

“no, I don’t.”

billy sighs again.

“it can be okay. you let me sit with you now. you didn’t before.”

McNamara’s voice is such a smoky innocent star. it is so astral it hurts.

“i don’t think things can ever be okay.”

billy says again.

McNamara is quiet for a moment. the sky seeps into billy’s skin again, and it is getting warmer outside. almost no time at all until august.

“you don’t smoke now.”

McNamara finally whispers.

billy knows he is not human. he does not have the heart to tell McNamara that statues cannot smoke. he does not have the heart to break McNamara’s own heart, because McNamara is very human. his warm mouth is human. and his own words return, mingled with the sweet-heavy smell of memories, “i don’t think things can ever be okay”